


Mending a Heart

by SunflowerSkys



Series: The Stitches that Bind us Together [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Based on traditional Japenese embroidery customs, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Toph & Zuko brotp, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, aang is the best, it will get better though haha, little bit angsty in the first chapter, probably gonna add more tags as i go along, zuko doesn't know what to do with people being nice to him, zuko makes questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSkys/pseuds/SunflowerSkys
Summary: He’s given up the embroidery again.He doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn't miss it, but he’s still given it up.It’s sort of symbolic, in his mind anyway. It stands for all the things hedoesdoesn’t want to be.It’s not like he evenneedsit, there’s no longer any need for him to work, and there’s plenty of things for him to do at the palace. Firebending training for one.His fire has been stronger recently, the inner flame stoked to an inferno. It’s burning him up, the constant heat, and taking it out on the wooden targets helps a little.(Even if he’s sure that stitching would give him more of a relief).Or: Zuko revaluates his life choices in a number of high stress senarios
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Ty Lee (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Fire Nation Royal Family & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Suki & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko, Ty Lee & Zuko (Avatar), Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: The Stitches that Bind us Together [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842907
Comments: 95
Kudos: 152
Collections: Non-Ship Fics of AtLA





	1. Returning

The peace of the sparkling waves is broken periodically by the slashing emergence of the hippo-manatees pulling their boat forwards.

_Why does every aspect of his life always seem to include boats_? 

He’s really getting sick of them, but he supposes if he’s back to stay in the Fire nation, then he better learn to accept them. The Nation is made up of a series of islands after all, and it’s never a bad thing to have a large body of water nearby when there’s a whole nation full of fire-lovers. 

_Relax_ , he tells himself. _Breathe_. Anyway, it’s different. Things are different now. This isn’t the tiny boat he was trapped on for over 2 years, circling the globe on frigid metal. This boat is light, airy, and made of varnished wood. It’s all temporary. This journey away is temporary. They’ll be back to the palace soon enough, and maybe that return will quiet his anxiety. 

He knows it won’t. 

Azula and Ty Lee are talking, and though he did try at first to pay attention he soon finds his concentration drifting away again, mind undulating over topics like the water underneath their feet. The sea is all he can think of, and he hates it. He wishes he had some form of distraction, anything really, but Mai is too busy being seasick at the other end of the boat to be any use conversation wise. 

The thin red curtains billow in the calm breeze, like petals of a silky flower. His fingers tap at the wooden railings, feeling the rough grain beneath his skin. His hands have refused to sit still lately. Back in Ba Sing Se, the constant work he’d been doing had quieted them, but now... _no_. No thoughts like that. He’s happy to be back. He really is. It’s better this way. Uncle will come around soon enough, and Father will forgive him because they’re brothers. He has to forgive him, right? It’s his duty. ~~Just like it was his duty to look after his children~~. 

He's given up the embroidery again  
He doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn't miss it, but he’s still given it up. 

It’s sort of symbolic, in his mind anyway. It stands for all the things he ~~does~~ doesn’t want to be. It’s not like he even _needs_ it, there’s no longer any need for him to work, and there’s plenty of things for him to do at the palace. Firebending training for one. 

His fire has been stronger recently, the inner flame stoked to an inferno. It’s burning him up, the constant heat, and taking it out on the wooden targets helps a little. 

( _Even if he’s sure that stitching would give him more of a relief_ ). 

The sun shines down on the prow of the boat with a gentle heat that he hasn’t felt in so long, and the screaming of the osprey-gulls as the tips of the island appears in the distance feels like coming home. 

**.....**

Not too long later, the distant island is much closer. Zuko sits on the cushioned seats, and Mai (recovered from her sickness) perches beside him. Ty Lee bounces excitedly on the railings of the boat, appearing almost weightless in her eagerness. 

“You know,” She smiles at him like he’d never been away, like they’re all on some normal vacation. “I can’t quite remember that last time I visited Ember Island! I remember going with Azula when we were little, me and Mai’s families were invited along to keep her company." 

“But since then..” She frowns a little, as if reminded of all of the things that have changed since the days they were taking family vacations together. “I don’t know. I can’t wait to get to the beach and just do nothing though!” 

Zuko feels himself scowl. “Doing nothing is a waste of time.” The expensive robes he wears, probably made with more money that Hua’s shop could accumulate in years rustles around his feet as his stands. 

“Anyway, this isn’t some _fun trip_ , it’s a forced vacation. They don’t want us around for their meetings, so they’re sending us away. To be _managed_.” 

“Oh get over it.” Azula doesn’t even look up from sharpening her nails with a delicate file as she speaks. “It’s not the end of the world. I would have though that you’d been through worse _Zuzu_.” 

He glowers at her, but she doesn’t show any signs of acknowledgement, just keeps up her grating filing with a half smirk dressing her face. He refuses to rise to it. She’s probably had enough entertainment watching him run around after the Avatar these last months, and he doesn’t want to give her any more material to use against him. 

“I just don’t appreciate being treated like a child.” 

Azula sighs, rolling her eyes, and Zuko stares back towards the approaching shoreline. 

**.....**

The houses on Ember island seem much the same as they did- how many years has it even been again? 

5? 6? They’d stopped coming after Ursa disappeared, the trips had been deemed to childish by Ozai, and that had been that. 

_Still_ , he thinks, it’s almost nice to see how the little houses on the coast still stand on their rickety wooden poles, well above any flood level. He’d always been afraid as a child, that they would collapse, bury him under their mass if he ventured beneath them. Azula had never helped him with that fear. She’d even convinced him one that the poles were a trap, the home of an evil spirit designed to draw him in. He hadn’t slept for a week. 

He wonders to himself whether she still remember that when he glances over towards Azula and sees her idly surveying their surrounds. _Probably not. Why would she anyway_? It had never been that big of a thing. But the memory has still lingered in his head over the years. 

Then Li and Lo are calling them all over again, beckoning them to follow, and he forgets the thought for another time. 

**.....**

They arrive at Chan and Ruon-Jian’s party at exactly the moment dusk begins to settle. 

Zuko still isn’t particularly enamoured with the idea of a party of all things, but Azula had been oddly insistent. Besides, its’s not like he’s got anything better to do. Mai and Ty Lee are stuck to Azula’s side like barnacle-limpets, so his choices are to either visit a cheap party with them, or wander the shoreline feeling sorry for himself. He’s starting to regret not taking the second option. He could really use some time to be alone. 

Everything just seems so much at the moment, he even finds himself snapping at Mai for no good reason, griping at Ty Lee, rising to all of Azula’s pointed remarks. 

So now, he sits in a room with a crowd of people he’s never seen before, and after this night may well never see again. They’re slightly cut off here on Ember island, which is why Ozai had elected to have them sent there.  
Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably also the reason they used to visit so much when they were children. There’s an amount of peace in obscurity. 

He’s not really surprised, that none of his own citizens seem to recognise him. It’s not like he’d been celebrated much, not after being banished. The closest thing to a portrait he’s had done in years are wanted posters, and still somehow a few of them manage to get his scar done on the wrong side of all things. He’s sure that rumours of him have circulated through the nation, the outcast prince, burned and banished. A disgrace. But such tales tended to either over or under exaggerate his scars, and despite all approximations, nobody ever seems to get it quite right. 

The war seems like a distant memory, here in these beach side houses. Of course, it had seemed that way when he was a child too: something remote and unobtrusively going on in a far away land. He knows better now, of course he does. He’s seen the effects of it first-hand, felt his starvation and desperation like a blunt knife. 

Even with all the rice palace foods he eats now, he can still count his ribs if he tries hard enough. 

The fine table clothes and carpets seem almost mocking, a reminder of what could have been, if he’d been born someone different. Would he have preferred this life, living out from under the shadow of the war? But no. They have to go to war. Fire has to burn. ~~He has to stay loyal~~. 

The voices around him irritate his ears like hornet-flies, and he’s sure nobodies surprised when he finally snaps. It feels good to yell, to take all the anger curling inside him and force it outwards. It feels like poison. 

He leaves. 

**.....**

The house on the hill is different from how he remembers it. Maybe because it used to feel so familiar. As he walks up to the slanting doors, Zuko can almost hear the voices that once flitted through the hallways. 

_Mum! Make Azula give me back my stuff!_  
Footsteps thumping up the stairs, stairs smaller than he remembers.  
_She says she’s gonna burn my things!_  
_Laughter. He knows she won’t really burn it, it’s just a game_. 

It was better when it was just a game. When he could trust what Azula did. 

Stepping into the empty rooms, he can still see traces of the past. The seashells he collected piled in corners and stacked on shelves, delicate pinks and creamy whites. Sand rubs beneath his feet, but he’s not sure whether it was brought in by his own childish carelessness, or if the winds have blown it inside over the years. 

His room is much the same as it ever was. Half read scrolls lie faded and unfurled, and bright paintings hang crooked on the walls. The chest in the corner opens with a screech as he pulls at its heavy lid. 

They’re still there. He’s not sure why he wasn’t expecting them to be. 

The fabric is faded, the stitches coming undone, but he can still recall the work he put into them. Hours trying to recreate the detritus of the beach in the form of woven patterns. 

The Sea-Hawk stands out proudest among the collection of past efforts, still folded carefully at the bottom of the pile. It’s messy, the work of a ten year old; face misshapen and beak crooked. At one point, he’d run out of white and had to continue with a cream thread instead. Not that anyone would be able to tell now anyway, time and dust has stained everything yellow. 

But most importantly, what makes him tuck the piece into his shirt, are the small assortment of shells arranged with care around the feet of the bird, delicately stitched into the fabric. He’d begged Ursa to do them, nagged at her till she complied, even though she told him constantly that he should be proud of his own work. 

_Why do you need me to do them for you? I’m not going anywhere soon_. 

He wonders how true that statement had been. If she knew, even back then, that she was going to leave. He hopes she didn’t. 

**.....**

The hallways are still lined with the pictures from his childhood as he passes from his room back into the moonlit house. His own face glints out at him from the frame. Not his face anymore. The Zuko in those pictures burnt a long time ago. 

So, when he tosses the pictures in the fire, it feels only right that he should burn again. He’s completing some sort of fucked-up cycle, always ending up in the flames. 

**.....**

And it is pretty satisfying, no matter how confused and lost he feels, to see Chan’s face when they come back to burn his party to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly angsty first chapter lmaoo. Also, yay! The gaang will finally make an appearence soon :D


	2. Making Choices

In Zuko’s dreams, he wanders.

The scenery shifts in sickening turns, palace walls blending seamlessly into the dirt caked streets of slums. Twisting hallways shifting to open desert plains. Sometimes he is alone, and sometimes he is not. The people in his dreams are unremarkable, a thousand faces each remembered in some part of his brain from years of travel. 

He can’t even tell which nation they’re supposed to be from. 

A dragon walks beside him, and its scales are azure blue.  
_Sleep_. It hisses, in a familiar voice, sickly sweet like cloying honey.  
_Do not wonder about what is already done_. 

He looks at it closer, studies the sapphire scales. _Only, that’s not right, is it_ ? Creeping along the bottom like a trail of fine rust is the hint of red. He rubs at it, and the dragon hisses. 

_Sleep_. But he is insistent. It feels wrong, this dragon does not feel right. _It’s not good for him_. 

_The scales underneath the blue are a fierce, amber red._

__

__

_The dragon vanishes and he is alone again_. 

The dream changes. 

He stands with a ball of tightly knotted string in his hands. The threads weave around each other, binding everything together in an intolerable tangle. 

He looks closer at them, and sees the way green winds round red, blue and yellow knot together, a technicolour mess. He pulls at the strings, like he’s done so many times before, and they do not shift. 

There is a figure behind his shoulder.  
It looks like Uncle, as much as dreams can look like people, but when it speaks, it’s in Hua’s voice. 

_You’re doing it wrong_. 

A loose thread. He pulls at it, and the knot begins to unwind. 

Zuko does not remember his dreams. 

**.....**

Sometimes, Zuko feels like a ghost in his own life. 

He walks through halls which he ought to remember, and still ends up lost. How can he be lost in his own home? Perhaps all those memories he was forced to make have overrun what he used to know. 

When he was little, the tales of spirits used to scare him. The wraiths of the lost, cursed to wander in forgotten fog, never quite remembering who they used to be. 

Who did he use to be? People change, he knows that, but sometimes he wishes that it would just be simpler. That he could forget and move on. But what if he doesn’t want to forget? 

**.....**

One night, he wakes to the sound of movement. 

He sits up immediately, blood pumping in his ears and fire coiled like a tiger-snake in his veins. The shadows on his wall sing of hidden dangers, assassins and traitors. But when he flings the door open, the only enemy is the scroll lying gently on the cold stone floor. 

It tells him he must find out about his great-grandfather's death in order to understand his own destiny, and he feels like burning it. _Why does everything always have to be so insufferably cryptic_ ? 

So, he places it roughly on the side of his bed, and decides that if the mysterious gift giver wants him to do something, they could have at least had to decency to ask in the morning. 

**.....**

Later, after wandering through the palace corridors, he finds himself in the royal portrait gallery. 

A hundred eyes stare down impassively from a hundred looming figures, men and women lost to time, with only tightly woven tapestries as a testament to their pasts. 

He can only imagine the countless hours poured into each individual loom, the stitching and restitching of all the intricate details, weaving together into one solid figure. It must be hard, to display work like that while knowing that even one tiny spark could set the whole thing alight. 

When he was little, Azula and him would often hide in this long room. They’d make up tales for each Firelord, what they had done during their reign based on the embellishments to their personalised tapestries, how popular they had been, how they had died. He’d always hated guessing about the deaths, but this had spurred Azula on, and soon every Firelord had a gory tale attached to their tapestry. Honestly, he actually finds it hard to remember how some of them really died. 

He looks at any random figure, and opposing stories fill his head.  
_Riding accident_ says the mundane palace tutor, flicking through a history book.  
_Murdered by her daughter_ says Azula, eyes alive with creativity. 

He misses that. 

Anyway, he’s not here for ancient history, it’s the newest tapestries he’s drawn too. 

Sozin’s tapestry hangs proudly, illuminated by carefully distanced lamps. His robes are a deep, crimson red and the gold threads that line the edges of the cloths gleam like predators’ eyes. In one hand he holds a long unfurled scroll; a decree of war. In the other, a large flame blossoms like a flower above his outstretched palm, a gesture mimicked in all of the portraits that line the hall. 

Scattered around his feet like playthings are dozens of tiny soldiers. Their faces are blank and featureless, most of the work put into them has gone towards refining their armour, and delicately stitching in silver weapons and tiny flames into outstretched hands. 

And above it all, like a streak of red paint shines the tail of the comet. Sozin’s comet. _They used to call it Agni’s comet_ , some part of his brain vaguely recalls, _before, before-_

_Well, before everything really_. 

Footsteps, echoing around the high ceilings of the hall. Azula walks by him, robe swishing in her wake.  
“It’s not to late for a visit to the palace artists Zuzu.”  
Her tone is matter-of-fact, seemingly without malice. 

“But make sure they get your good side, won’t you? Maybe you could even lend them a hand! Put your skills to use.” 

So, she hasn’t forgotten then. He had almost believed she had. 

Azula studies his face for a minute, perhaps looking for any reaction, before giving a small shrug and half turning on her heels. 

“Wait.” 

She stops, back silhouetted in the lamplight. 

“What do you know about Sozin’s history?” 

She turns back to face him, and for a minute he thinks sees genuine confusion across her face before she gives an impassive sigh. 

Please, tell me your time away hasn’t completely rotted your brain Zuko.”  
She steps closer to the portrait, and stares up towards it. 

"Firelord Sozin started the war, of course. He spent his early years working secretly towards it, and then used the comet to boost his soldier’s powers. He died after a long and successful reign.” 

Zuko can’t hold back a groan of frustration.  
“But _how_.” 

“Did you really pay no attention in school? He died in his sleep. He was ancient.” 

Well. At least he knows that for once, Azula is telling the truth. This exposition of Sozin’s history sounds exactly like something the palace tutors would say. 

**.....**

Much later, as the threat of the black sun looms, Zuko is lost in thought. Everything feels wrong, and none of the paths seem the right ones to take. He casts his mind back, back to the desolate temples he once visited so long ago. _Was it right_? He doesn’t think so. The fabrics had looked so similar to his own clothes, and the bones of Fire and Air had been indistinguishable from one another. Sozin and Roku, two sides of the same coin, two halves of himself. 

_You’ll understand when you’re older_. People have always told him that. When he was little, asking about the war, when he wondered why the fire nation was the one in control, when he asked why their enemies had to die. 

_You’ll understand when you’re older_. 

But he is older, and he still doesn’t understand. 

It’s not really that hard of a choice in the end, considering all of the strife he’s gone though to get there. All of the people he’s let down, betrayed. Uncle’s face: resigned and sad. Hua: eyes sharp and judging. The Avatar, Aang. _Do you think we could have been friends_ ? 

And now, he will have to hurt more people to make up for his own mistakes. Hopefully Mai won’t want to kill him too much after reading the letter he’s left for her. 

He doesn’t pack too much to take with him. Ursa’s embroidery he tucks deep into the bag he slings over his shoulder, the Dao swords he straps against his back. There is only one confrontation left to make. 

**.....**

Ozai sits, the rough stone of the wall behind him covered in a red banner. He stares down at Zuko, and He finds himself wondering how he could have ever imagined that this man would spare one shred of love for him. 

“All I ever wanted was for you to love me.” 

Ozai’s face twists further into its sneer, but he doesn’t retort. 

“I spent _so long_ , so many _years_ trying to please you. All for nothing. You banished me, just for speaking out of turn. How could you possibly justify challenging me to a duel? I was only _a child_.” 

_So many of them are only children. They never had a real choice about any of this_. 

Ozai growls.  
“It was to teach you respect! Something which even all of you years of banishment has clearly failed to do.” 

Something bitter stirs inside of him. Bruises on his shoulders, burns on his arms. Years spent hiding even the smallest things that brough him happiness. Marks that even the most discreetly applied bandages failed to hide from sight completely. When did Ozai decide that he’d had enough? Decide to burn Zuko in the most obvious place he could find? 

“It was cruel, and it was wrong.” 

**.....**

Lightning flashes, but it doesn’t land. He doesn't burn. The banners behind Ozai catch fire, material crumbling into ash.  
But Zuko isn’t there to see it, because he’s already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko's subconcisness plus any random dream spirits: _You're making really bad desicions dude._  
>  Zuko: Forgets dream immediatly.
> 
> Well, new chapter up! Hope this one's a little less angsty haha. As always, feel free to leave any constructive critism, and stay safe!


	3. Integrating

He’s not sure what he expected, before he ran away. Before everything changed. But he’s pretty sure that it wasn’t this. His side is still painted with bruises from his plummet from the cliff after his desperate attempt to defeat- what was it that the others had called him? Combustion man? He has to admit that it is a fairly accurate name, he’d never really considered names when he was the one doing the hiring.

He knows that the bruises could be gone in an instant, washed away in a gentle blue glow. He also knows that there is no way on Agni’s earth that Katara will voluntarily go any nearer that 3 feet to him unless she’s trying to threaten him. He doesn’t mind that, he actually understands it. There’s no way he’d trust himself either if he were where she was. So, he grits his teeth, bandages his own wounds the best he can, and tries not to limp too much. 

Any attempt at conversation is so painfully awkward that he actually feels slightly sick. So, the only solution of course, is to avoid it as much as is physically possible. It’s not like he has to try too hard, nobody in this campsite seems particularly interested in fraternising with the ~~prince~~ _ex-prince_ of the fire nation anyway. He isn’t completely able to avoid the others however. He knows that they’ve probably agreed to try have at least one of them watching him at all times, probably in case he tries to sabotage them or something, so he has forced himself to become reaccustomed to the prickly feeling of constant supervision. 

__

__

His policy of non-speaking is unfortunately harder to maintain at mealtimes. 

Usually, Zuko waits until the others have all collected their food before venturing warily over towards the cooking pot. However, this evening he seems to have made a miscalculation on how finished the group are, and he’s so absorbed in his own tumultuous thoughts, that he’s turning round the rough stone corner and into the main temple area before he can stop himself. 

The stone fire pit is crackling with a weak flame, one that he hadn’t been asked to light. Above it rests the smallish cooking pot, contents hidden by a heavy looking lid. The group sits around the area in patches of tight knit huddles, their breathes all steaming slightly in reaction to the cold mountain altitude. 

The conversation dies down instantly. The looks he’s receiving range from a few of surprise, more of distrustful, and a single furious one, which unsurprisingly belongs to Katara. He racks his brain frantically for something to say in the resulting seconds of silence. 

“Uhh..” _Wow. How eloquent. Azula would be in tears_. 

Katara breaks the quiet.  
“What are you doing here.” 

He glances at the wooden bowls piling at the edge of the fire, and then weakly back towards the group.  
“I came to get food?” 

Something in her expression tells him that that was the wrong answer. 

Aang smiles nervously, but it doesn’t quite cut across the wariness in his eyes.  
“Yeah that’s fine, Katara why don’t you..?” 

Katara turns sharply towards Aang, who winces slightly.  
“Why don’t I _what_?” 

“Serve him some food?” 

For a minute, Zuko thinks Katara might simply refuse to serve him. But then something in her expression relents slightly as she looks at Aang, and accompanied by a great deal of muttering, she waves her hand in a sharp upwards flick, and a stream on umber liquid flows from the cooking pot. 

It slams with more strength than he would of thought soup could travel with into one of the various bowls, and she pushes it across the floor towards him. It’s cold when he picks it up, which he wouldn’t have expected from a soup that had just moments ago suspended above an albeit weak flame, but seeing the frosty glare that Katara sends his way, he doubts the soup cooled off naturally. 

He stays standing for a second, unsure of what to do. _Would it be counted as an insult to leave with his food?_ He really can’t afford to antagonise these people more than he already has. _Should he stay?_ He makes the decision to sit down, and then immediately regrets being born, something that he regrets all to frequently. Well, better eat the soup as fast as possible then. 

The conversation resumes around him, and he’s thankful for the shadows the pillars cause which he finds himself blending into. The soup is frigid, so much so that he’s surprised it’s still a liquid, he tries to warm it using just his hands, but the soup resists heating in an unusual manner. Must be the altitude. Or maybe he’s just out of practice. He should probably do some training at some point, preparation for when he actually has to train Aang. They haven’t had any real lessons yet, Zuko’s been assigning Aang extra fitness until he thinks Aang is up too standard, building up stamina. Fire isn’t an easy element to handle, and he’s sure his first lesson with Aang will go a lot better if Aang at least has the strength to perform a decent kick. 

The soup is still lukewarm despite his best efforts, but he drinks it anyway. Anything to allow him to leave faster. 

**.....**

The next day the sky is a pale cloudless blue, and the mist that shrouds the temple like a thin veil had retreated slightly. Zuko regrets enormously his haphazard packing skills. He’d thought to bring a couple of scrolls on firebending in the optimism that the Avatar’s group wouldn’t kill him on sight, his swords, some changes of clothes, and embroidery hoop, and no needles or thread. He can’t very well do any sort of work while missing those two rather essential ingredients. 

He keeps himself entertained with his swords however, slicing them through the air until them blur into streaks of sliver. He even catches the water tribe boy, Sokka, watching him once, with an odd expression on his face as he eyes the swords. He is almost tempted to ask him to spar as he sees another sword attached to Sokka’s belt, but he holds back. No doubt that any request to spar would be met with murder accusations. 

He eats a slightly cold and stilted breakfast with the others, putting as much distance between them and him as he possibly can, so he’s around to see Katara searching through the assorted travel bags with a worried expression on her face. 

“I’ve got bad news guys; I don’t think we have enough food.” 

Sokka sits up from where he’d been lying languidly against a pillar with a start.  
“What do you mean not enough food? We can’t be running out already!” 

“Well, it was a bit hard to pack when we were in the midst of escaping from a warzone! Besides,”  
Katara shoots Zuko a pointed glance,  
“We weren’t expecting to have to provide food for _seven_ people .” 

“Please,” Toph snorts, “I doubt that one person makes that much of a difference.” 

Zuko remains silent. He still feels guilty about burning Toph’s feet, and has been trying to make an extra effort to avoid her out of all the people at the temple, even if it means that he sometimes has to run into Katara instead and risk being skewered by an icicle. 

“Well, whether or not one person makes a difference, the matter still stands that we’ve got seven people and not enough supplies.” 

“We could always try and od some scavenging!” Aang pipes up. “I only ever visited the Western Air temple a few times when I was younger, but they definitely grew food around here somewhere. Maybe we could find some of their crop?” 

“There isn’t any.” 

Zuko regrets choosing to speak as soon as he opens his mouth. 

Katara rounds on him. “What do you mean there isn’t any? Any how would _you_ know anyway?” 

“I’ve been here before,” he finds himself saying tiredly, “and it’s all gone. Taken over by bramble-gorse and weeds. There may be a few fruit trees left, but,” He shrugs helplessly. “Not enough to provide a reliable food source.” 

There’s a brief silence. Aang’s face drops its hopeful smile, replaced by an expression that makes Zuko’s stomach twist itself into uncomfortable guilty knots. 

At least he had visited he reassures himself. More than once. If the revelation that the vegetable gardens had dried up makes Aang so upset, he hates to see how he’d react when confronted with the withered skeletons that had lined the halls before he and his crew had put them to rest. 

“Well how do we know-“ 

Toph cuts Katara off. “He’s not lying. I mean, you could go and check them out if you want to, but I doubt you’ll find anything useful.” 

“No,” Zuko agrees. “Not unless anything’s grown back since the last couple of years I visited.” 

Sokka stares at him curiously. “What were you doing here a few years go?” 

_How do you explain that to somebody? Yeah, my dad burned half my face off, chucked me out into a world full of people who would love to kidnap or kill me, sent me on an impossible field trip and forbade me from ever coming home_. 

“It was for educational purposes.” 

And that’s not strictly a lie, but he’s sure his heart rate goes up a little anyway. 

Aang sighs morosely. There’s a village at the bottom of the mountains, but I don’t know how much use that could be since none of us have very much money-“ 

“I have money.” 

Zuko is, much to his dismay, immediately the centre of attention again. 

“What do you mean you have money?” 

“Well, I do!”  
Truth be told, he had deliberated whether or not to toss the pouch full of coins into his bag or not as he left the palace, but had ultimately ended up tossing it in anyway, reasoning that if the group kicked him out he could at least use the money to help him get away and go searching for Uncle somewhere else. He’s not actually sure how much money the pouch holds, or even which nation its from, but he’s certain that it will be more than enough for adequate supplies. 

“Well, why don’t Sokka and Katara take Appa and sneak down to-“  
“No way am I leaving you alone with him,” Katara interjects. 

“Hey, I am here you know!” Huffs Toph. “Me and Aang could take Zuko if he decided to do anything shifty.” 

Zuko decides that it is probably best not to comment on this, and remains silent. 

Well, I don’t want to risk it! Aang, you obviously can’t go, you’re far to recognisable and we can’t afford to lose you. I don’t want Zuko to stay here alone with you though, that’s also risky....” 

“Here’s an idea.” Toph plants her feet firmly in the earth and crosses her arms. “Me and Sokka head down the mountain with Zuko in tow, while you, Aang, Haru, Teo, and The Duke stay here. That way if he decides to attack us or runs off to tell somebody about us, then we can hop back on Appa, tell you guys and be gone before the Fire Nation can do a thing. Sound good?” 

Katara still looks slightly mutinous, but nods anyway. “Be carful though, we don’t want anybody recognising him either. It could lead them back to us.” “Don’t worry,” Sokka grins, “We can pull a bag over his head to hide him if we need to.” 

**.....**

The trip down the mountains is a hurried affair. The second they touch down into the heavily wooded forest, Sokka attempts to hide Appa within a grove of trees. “Stay out of sight!” He whispers, and Zuko decides that the moan Appa gives in response is probably an affirmative. 

When they finally make their way out of the wood they are greeted with the sight of something caught between the end of a village and the tentive start of a town. Small houses line small streets, a mishmash of wood and stone. 

The water tribe boy, _Sokka_ , he reminds himself, reaches under the brown cloak covering his weapons and tribe clothing to pull out- a neatly written list. 

“Right, what’s first then?” 

“Don’t ask me,” Toph yawns. “Need I remind you _once again_ that I _cannot read_.” 

“It was a rhetorical question!” Sokka squarks, and Zuko honesty cannot believe that this is his life now. Sokka quickly steadies himself though with a wary glance towards Zuko, obviously not wanting to seem too relaxed. He holds out the list in front of him. 

“First things first, Aang wants us to pick up some more cabbages.” 

**.....**

They make their way around the village quickly, efficiently scratching off the items on their list. Nothing particularly worrying happens, and Zuko doesn’t think anyone is paying them any unwanted attention ( _Though the cabbage merchant they’d picked up Aang’s vegetables from does stare at Sokka for a moment like he’s seeing a ghost_ ). 

He almost wishes that he could take this moment to relax, to swap out the green Earth Kingdom colours for red and orange, pretend that he’s visiting one of the outlying villages. But he can’t afford to lose vigilance, even if this is the first time in what seems like forever that he hasn’t had hateful eyes burning into his shoulders from behind. 

Soon, they’re down to the last items on the list, and Zuko feels slightly relived that he won’t have to haul the many bags they’ve collected around for much longer. 

Sokka squints at the list. “All righty, last thing to do, Katara wants us to pick up some more needles and thread. Finally! I thought my top was going to be ripped forever.” 

_He can’t have heard that right, can he? Maybe his delirious brain is so starved for entertainment that it’s decided to make things up_. 

“Well, where are we supposed to find needles and thread? What kind of shops sell that stuff anyway?” 

“I saw a shop back down the street.” 

Sokka and Toph both turn back to stare at him, and he can’t help but squirm a little under Toph’s sightless gaze. 

“It’s just over there.” 

He points towards the smallish building, and feels relived when Sokka and Toph agree to check it out with no further questions. 

Inside the shop, a few customers casually browse that understocked shelves. Sokka stares at the counter with boredom written across his face, and looks down to consult the list again. 

“It just says needles and thread, no specifications or anything. _Honestly_ , you think Katara could just be clear on what she wants…” 

Zuko can’t help but roll his eyes slightly. He steps further into the shop, and grabs a few packs of thread and needles haphazardly. Or at least, he may seem to be choosing the materials in a haphazard fashion, but he makes sure to grab a few things that he wants for himself as well. He doubts Sokka will notice anything missing. 

“Do you think this is enough?” 

Sokka sighs. “Sure. Let’s just buy this stuff, and get out of here.” 

Zuko can’t bring himself to argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo a valentine's day update! Think of it as a gift to all of you haha because I definetly planned to update on this day in particular and it wan't just a coincidence or anything like that...
> 
> As always, thank you for any comments or Kudos, and stay safe!


	4. Training

When they get back from the dragons, ( _the dragons!! The thought still makes his head hurt)_ Zuko knows immediately that something has changed. It’s a feeling in the air, or rather the lack of feeling. There has been a tension, taught and on the verge of snapping. Now, its almost like it’s relaxed, even if only a little. He’ll take that though; he needs all the relaxation he can get.

He sits out of the shade of the stone temple, watching the rays of the sun creep around the sides of the mountains. It's good to feel the sun again, to be aware of its presence. He hadn’t even noticed how weak it had been for the first week or so at the temple. Of course, if he’d actually tried firebending, he might have noticed it sooner, but to be fair to himself he had thought that shooting out sparks in front of the Avatar’s gang might serve as an unwelcome reminder of his existence. 

The sun finally reaches dawn, and light spills down towards him. He checks his internal clock. If Aang doesn’t get here by the time the sun has moved another degree, then he’s going to go and have to wake him up. They do have firebending training to get to after all. If you’d asked Zuko what he thought he’d be doing a few months ago, his answers would have probably ranged from prison to lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Teaching the Avatar had not featured on his list. Yet against all odds, here he is. For better or for worse. 

“Sifu Hotman!” 

Zuko tries his level best to supress a groan, but it still slips out. 

“I’ve told you not to call me that.” 

“Sorry Sifu Hotman!” 

Aang grins at him, and bows down towards him, and then again towards the sun, hands arrayed in the traditional Fire Nation manner that Zuko still can’t believe that he’s seeing the Avatar use. 

They run quickly through the stretches and exercises that Zuko’s taught him already. 

“So! What’s on the agenda today?” Aang asks as they finish up. “Fire kicks? Punches?” 

“Later. I just wanted to start the lesson off with an important technique.”  
He flicks his hand, igniting a tiny flame in his palm. 

“Flame control.” 

Aang’s face falls instantly.  
“Is this going to be one of the exercises where you leave me up on a mountain all day and tell me to breath?” 

“No? Who had you doing that- you know what, it doesn’t matter.” 

He remembers the breath control the Fire Nation tutors had tried to get him to do, how mind numbingly boring it had been. If he want’s Aang, the closest thing to a personification of hyperactivity he’s ever seen to engage with the lesson then he needs to come at this from a different angle. 

”You just need to learn to take control of the fire, like what we were doing when we carried the flames up the mountain to Ran and Shaw. Fine control can take years of practice, and there are many different meditatory techniques, like grass burning, candle lighting…” _learning how to sew without setting your materials on fire_. 

He keeps his mouth shut and manages not to say that last part out loud, but Aang doesn’t seem to notice that pause anyway. 

“Is that what Jeong Jeong was doing with that candle circle then?” 

“…Jeong Jeong?”  
Is Zuko even hearing this correctly? 

“Oh yeah, sorry, Jeong Jeong was this weird fire nation deserter guy we met in a forest a couple of months ago-“ 

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose tightly, trying as best as he can to ward off a headache.  
“Yes _I know who Jeong Jeong is_.” 

Everybody knows who Jeong Jeong is, the infamous deserter. Practically a living legend. A living legend that apparently _hung out with the Avatar_ in his spare time. 

Zuko makes the conscious effort to put that piece of knowledge aside for later consideration, and to instead focus on training. 

“Lets just start with something simple.” 

He holds up his hand, still cupping the fire in his palm.  
“Put this out.” 

Aang squints at it.  
“How?” 

“Just focus on it, imagine it dying down to embers. Push it down with your hand.” 

Aang complies, reaching his arm out and gently motioning downwards. Zuko feels the fire flicker, and resists the urge to keep it alight, instead giving it over to Aang’s control. It flickers out, and Aang looks immensely sad. 

“It’s like I’ve killed it. I can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.” 

“You can always relight it.” Zuko says, though he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be encouraging arson. “It’s one of the first things a firebender learns: how to clean up their own messes. We can’t have a 6 year old burning down the capitol every few months.” 

“I’ve never seen a firebender putting out their fire.” 

“It’s much harder to put out bigger fires, especially if you didn’t light them, not to mention it feels horrible. Add that to the fact that the army discourages it, and well…” 

Aang frowns. “Why does the army discourage it?” 

“Wildfires burn down a lot of land,” Zuko says brusquely. “Sometimes it’s easier to let the fire get out of control, especially when you know that it’s not you that it’s going to hurt.” 

_Now is not the time to deal with the fact that all of the army’s techniques are absolutely insane_. 

“We can come back to work on that later. For now, if you see any big fires, just waterbend them out.” 

**.....**

The sun is higher in the sky now, and it chases out the some of the shadows gathering round the temple. They go through some more basic moves; the Catgator’s punch, the Swooping Dragon-Eagle, beginner stuff. It’s only when Zuko’s showing Aang a more complicated kick when it happens. 

Aang’s heel is a little off, and when he strikes out it rebounds off of Zuko’s ribs, still bruised from his ill-fated attempt to attack the combustion bender. He lets out an involuntary his, doubling over around his side before he can stop himself. Aang stops immediately. 

“Are you alright?” He hovers around Zuko nervously, hands wringing in anxiety.  
“Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry it was an accident-“ 

He waves him off. “No, don’t worry, it’s fine, I’m fine.”  
He really isn’t fine. But that’s none of Aang’s concern. He doesn’t need his own injuries to get in the way of training. 

He straightens up quickly, ignoring the way his side shrieks in angry protest, and furiously wiping off any expression of hurt from his face. 

It doesn’t seem to have worked through, because Aang still looks worried. Probably upset about the training he’s missing out on. 

“I’m going to go get Katara.” 

He’s off before Zuko can stop him, so he lets out another groan as nobody's around to hear it. Great. He’s sure Katara will appreciate waking up just to heal one of the people she despises. What a great way to get on better terms with her. 

He doesn’t have long to stew in his mistakes, because soon enough Aang is back with a reluctant Katara in tow. 

“Are you seriously saying you got me over here just because Aang kicked you a little.”  
Katara’s voice is drenched in scepticism, and Zuko can’t help but defend himself. 

“I have a small bruise on that side, and Aang just happened to kick it. It’s nothing major.” 

Aang smiles “Well, it doesn’t matter how big it is, Katara can heal it! Can’t you Katara?”  
Katara looks like she would honestly rather do anything other than heal Zuko’s bruise, but she sighs in resignation at Aang’s words. 

“Fine, yes I’ll heal Zuko’s bruise. Why wouldn’t I? It’s not like I can’t or anything.” She shoots him a glare over Aang’s shoulder, and Zuko tries not to apologise for falling off a cliff. 

When he unwraps his shirt from where he’d carefully arranged it on his side, he can’t help but be pleasantly surprised. They look like they’re healing much better than he’d expected. They’ve lost the deep blackish-blue colour they’d first appeared with, and are now stained a sickly yellow-green, a discoloured tapestry of pain weaving its way across his ribs. 

“That is _not_ a small bruise?” 

Aang’s voice is slightly shrill in its incredulousness. Zuko doesn’t really know how to respond, so he just shrugs.  
“It’s not as bad as it looks. Its healing pretty well already too.” 

He doesn’t know what Aang’s worried about. If Katara heals him, it’ll be gone, and they can go back to training. 

“You were walking around with this? Without telling us?” For a moment, Zuko thinks he sees something like shame in Katara’s gaze, but she quickly turns away. He must have imagined it. 

She heals him quickly, and he thanks her.  
She walks off without replying, but he takes that as a good sign. 

Aang wants a break from training after that, and if Zuko gets the impression that Aang just doesn’t want Zuko hurting himself anymore, then nobody needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to have to save the embroidery content for the next chapter I'm afraid! I was originally going to keep it in this chapter, but then it was getting too long so I decided to save it for next week haha


	5. Discussions

He’s sitting in his “room” ( _as much as you can call the area of temple he still keeps his stuff in a room)_ a couple of days later when it happens.

After the whole training incident, Aang has apparently decided to take a day or two to focus on his earth and water bending. Zuko’s tried telling him that he’s fine, and that he doesn’t need to worry because Katara’s healed him now, but all his arguments just make Aang look sadder, so finally Zuko relents and lets him go.

He’d been slightly wondering about what to do while their training is reduced a little, until he remembered the shopping trip and the resulting supplies he’d managed to scavenge from it. The pack of thread he finds himself with is missing a few key colours, and honestly looks like it’s seen better days, but it's good enough for what he wants to do.

He even found a small chalk stick at the bottom of his bag, which he’s used to carefully sketch his design onto a piece of fabric.

He finds himself with less time to work on any embroidery he might do than he’d expected. Before, in a time not very long ago, he could sit for hours without being pressured into any kind of conversation. But know people are always seeming to want to talk to him.

It’s Aang’s fault really. He’s the one who tries the most, who asks Zuko to help him wash the dishes, and drags him aside to look at the pretty flowers he’s found growing up the temple walls. Katara is still holding out on her frosty silence, but whenever she passes him food it’s no longer cold enough to give him frostbite, so he sees that as a plus. Even Sokka seems to be slightly more accommodating to him recently, though Zuko suspects that may just be because he happened to spot him practising with his Dao the other day.

Toph however, is another matter. He’s apologised to her of course, said sorry over and over again about burning her feet. She just shrugs it off, saying that it “Doesn’t really matter because Katara healed them up right away anyway.” He just doesn’t know what to do with that kind of attitude. Is she still mad? Hiding her feelings with forgiveness so she can exact an unexpected revenge later? 

_People just don’t forgive like that_ , he’s sure. At least, the people he’s used to don’t. Not without him doing something for them first.

So, he’s pretty surprised when he looks up from his work one afternoon to find Toph standing a couple of metres away from him.

He almost lets out an undignified yelp, it’s been a while since anyone has managed to sneak up on him, and he can’t help but be glad that nobody was around to see him startled by a blind girl.

Toph smirks at him, and he has the impression that she’d felt his surprise. The embroidery is still in his hand, so he places it carefully in his lap before he speaks.

“What do you want.”  
He winces. His words come out ruder then intended, but Toph doesn’t seem bothered.

“I felt you take that stuff.”

His heart immediately leaps to his throat.  
“What?”

Toph laughs. “Calm down jumpy, I can feel your heat rate from here. I just meant the other day, when me and Sokka and you were in that town. I felt you take the stuff.”

Zuko doesn’t know quite what to say to this admission.  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Toph shrugs. “I guess I just wanted to see what you would do. Besides, unless you’re planning to garrotte us with sewing thread, I think there are worse things you could have stolen.” 

They sit in an awkward silence for a moment. Zuko feels the nervous rhythm of his heart beating in his chest, and tries to calm it somewhat.

“So, what exactly _are_ you doing?”

There goes his heart again. He squints distrustfully at her, searching for signs of sarcasm in her misted green eyes. As far as he can tell, she actually seems genuine, but he’s misinterpreted Azula’s expressions enough that he’s never been quite sure when he’s being laughed at. 

“Honestly,” Toph huffs, you’re going to burst an artery with the way you’re pulse keeps spiking. What do you think I’m gonna do, huh? It’s just a question.”

He breathes reluctantly. He had two choices here. 1) Hide what he’s doing and deny everything vehemently, or 2) Show her and endure any teasing that might follow. He’s going to have to go with two, unfortunately. He can’t afford to alienate Toph any further. 

Carefully, he passes the fabric over to her outstretched hand. He takes it from him and studies it with sightless eyes. She runs a hand across the surface of the material, across the small flowers that he’s been sewing mindlessly across the cloth. He watches her nervously, gauging her reaction. 

She looks… not like she’s about to laugh at him. She looks curious. Happy, even.

“It’s.. beautiful. I can feel it, it’s like… a raised drawing.”

She smiles suddenly. “My parents actually tried to teach me to sew, you know? Just basic needle work, sewing two strips of fabric together in a line. _Young ladies in your...unique position need some form of entertainment,_ that’s what my dad always used to say. It was _so_ boring.”

Her smile turns slightly sadder as she continues. “But maybe, it they’d tried to teach me to sew like that, maybe I would have actually liked it.”

The embroidery is passed back to him, and he places it in his lap once more. 

Toph stands suddenly. “Well, that’s enough reminiscing about my life for now. It’s time for me to go and beat some earth into twinkle toes. Catch you later sparky!”

The she’s gone with surprising speed, before he can even begin to protest against the nickname.

**.....**

He catches her after supper a couple of days later. He’s back on fire bending training with Aang, but still has some of the afternoons and evenings to himself.

She’s alone, which he’s glad of, because he doesn’t particularly want the others seeing what he’s about to give to her.  
“Here.” 

He holds out the strip of fabric, carefully held in place by one of his spare hoops. Toph raises an eyebrow at him as she takes it from his hand, an expression that Zuko is pretty sure Sokka’s taught to her.

“What’s this supposed to be-“  
She stops, feeling the carefully placed stitches under her fingertips.  
Zuko shrugs. “I guess it’s an apology.”  


All those months in the earth kingdom have somewhat paid off, as he can now replicate a badger-mole utterly from memory. The badger-mole in question takes up the space of a palm, curling round lotus flowers and vines weaving into a vibrant green, dense enough to almost obsure the dark mossy green of the fabric background. He’d done each stitch with care, being sure to tie up any lose threads. He wishes he had some gold silk for the middles of the flowers, and for the highlights in the badger-moles fur, but he’s had to make do with yellow instead. Somehow, he doesn’t think Toph is going to mind that he doesn’t have the right colours. Still, the texture of the gold threads is much finer, and it would have been nice to incorporate them.

“It’s not perfect,” He begins hesitantly, when he realises that Toph still hasn’t spoken, “but-“ 

His words are cut off when the air is knocked out of him by Toph’s hug.

“It’s great.”

He realises with no small amount of mortification that Toph has what could almost be called pinprick tears in her eyes. Toph obviously realises too because she withdraws huffily. 

“I really mean that. It is perfect.”

“I could teach you how to sew too,” Zuko says, keeping his voice open. “I mean if you would like to. I can’t promise that it’ll go any better than when your parents tried to teach you, but…”

“Yeah. That actually sounds kind of cool.”

Toph laughs, and punches him squarely in the arm. "If I had realised that you still felt hung up about burning my feet after all this time, I could have blackmailed you into so many things! The missed opportunities are _endless_..”

Zuko laughs too, naively hoping that this is sarcasm.  
Later, he wishes he’d been more on guard when he’s forced to give Toph piggy backs all evening for “residual foot pains.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I actually updated quickly and didn't disapper for 2 weeks!

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who's just clicked on this: You don't have to read the earlier parts, but I recommend you do!


End file.
